#sure he was a living metaphor for the end of piracy but STILL

[cactihut]

i feel conflicted about izzy’s death bc, realistically, death happens, and sometimes a complicated character whose existence began as a villain has an arc that ends in a way that’s tragic but that also frees them from all the guilt they carried with them. the loss is hard & moving but it allows them to move on in every sense

but also! i would’ve hoped the writers could find a way for him to make that transformation & end his arc without needing to die bc this felt like a show that tried to forge its own path outside the established norm

truly no disrespect to the writers or anyone involved, it’s just an interesting choice to follow that common trope for characters like izzy’s who eventually turn good when there was a whole wide world of potential ways for his story to end

[ladyluscinia]

"What if it weren't like that?"

...or I'd like to propose a different theory of what's going on in Edward's head.

Going into the S2 finale, I feel like there's once again a huge consensus that Edward and piracy are an unsustainable mix, and he has to quit. Specifically after 2x07 he knows for sure, 100% that he wants to quit, and he's pulling away from Stede because he doesn't know how to communicate that certainty to him.

There's a very established meta framework backing up this belief. It's not new, just everyone pointing and saying "look! - the show is affirming us" at the same time. And it does make a lot of points about foundational trauma, the violence of the lifestyle, etc. I don't need to break it down for you. If you're seeing this post then you've seen the arguments before.

The thing is... I'm not actually sold on this read.

Edward is a complicated guy and I love to try and peel back his layers, and I'm not sure that retirement is truly his endgame. And maybe more importantly... I'm not sure retirement endgame is quite the thematic crescendo it's being presented as.

So let's talk a bit about Edward, particularly in 2x06 and 2x07.

---

Edward's Ongoing Depression Spiral

The thing about backsliding - and the Kraken was a pretty monumental backslide - is that even if you gain a lot of ground afterward, you still might not be much further than where you started.

Edward believing change is possible with Button's 2x04 guidance + his & Stede's conversation about taking it slow at the end of 2x05 are both huge steps for a guy that was openly suicidal at the beginning of the season. However, in the grand scheme of things, he's pretty much cycled back to the dilemma he was facing in S1 - continuing life as it was is intolerable, but he doesn't actually have a solid idea of what he wants. "Stede" is not a real, actionable answer.

In S1, this caused him to run recklessly into extremes of vulnerability with Stede because Stede was doing something different. He tried to metaphorically cut loose his entire history - as a pirate, as Blackbeard, as Edward Teach - and become a new "Ed" with no baggage, who was free to live an endless vacation honeymoon with his new boyfriend. And when the consequences of their own actions came crashing back in - an abandoned Izzy, Spanish Jackie, and Chauncey Badminton - Edward's desperate actions to save Stede turned into over-commitment to a guy he barely knows, a reckless plan to run halfway around the world to escape himself, and then a truly disastrous downturn when that blew up in his face.

Wherever you go, there you are - except Edward hates that guy. Edward's only concrete want so far for the new direction of his life is the one thing that's impossible - to not be Edward Teach.

So now, back to contemplating the same unknown future he was trying to chase in S1, the Kraken Era has given Edward new perspective, for better and worse. (I'm gonna link my rambling BlackHands / Kraken Era thoughts from 2x01 - 2x03 just because.) He's learned caution and is dipping his toes in self-reflection - Stede's love alone is not enough to save him, and his self-loathing has been acknowledged. Reckless pursuit of change without growth was doomed - an important lesson both Stede and Edward have started to learn.

Unfortunately, growth requires looking backwards, and if Edward was already disinclined to that due to killing his dad, he's struggling so much worse now that he's got months of fresh atrocities that he absolutely did not need to commit.

---

Drowning in Guilt

Edward's core trauma that he flashes to constantly goes back to killing his dad that night - something notably not associated with piracy. That guilt is the root of his self-loathing, but Edward is a rather troubled grown man with guilt aplenty, especially after the first two episodes of S2.

In 2x05 Edward starts with a CEO scripted non-apology firmly recategorizing all of his Kraken actions as "whatever that nasty dark stuff was that brought us here... it's in the past", and then his discussion with Stede does not involve too much reflection on why this probation is necessary and drops this gem:

"Oh fuck no. Apologizing? Nah. Didn't apologize for jack shit."

However - demonstrating self awareness / growth - he's also clearly projecting guilt and a desire (that's almost too big to look at) to apologize to Izzy for everything, and then he honestly talks with Fang (who he's known for 20 years!) about how he can not be understandably mad at him, after Fang pushes back on Edward's toxic rewriting of Knife Parade. He even learns to sit with himself!

All of which makes the start of 2x06 so layered.

We open with Edward sitting with himself, looking out over the ocean and stewing in guilt - in order: his dad, the storm, Izzy's toe, shooting Izzy, driving the crew to mutiny - and then the conversation that Edward was haunted by all last episode comes to him. He's back in his leathers - playacting the penitent with the onesie and cat bell got old after a day, and he had never truly linked his probation rules with any of his earnest feelings of remorse. Just a necessary performance to appease the crew.

Now he's himself again, as uncomfortable in his own skin as ever, and Edward Teach apologizes for Izzy's leg. He isn't being demanded to apologize by Izzy (no matter how much he may deserve it). Izzy is fully prepared to pretend it never happened despite the evidence of his body. But Edward wants to - needs to for the babiest step toward his own peace of mind - and so he does.

And then he flees from one guilt and accidentally stumbles into another. Stede has so helpfully pulled all Edward's Kraken treasure into one place, and Edward lampshades it:

"Excellent. A reminder of all my guilt. A guilt room."

Now, Stede has a decent idea here. His "poison into positivity" bit is not bad (and it echoes the language Izzy and Edward used - though I think it's a tossup whether Stede heard about that or if the parallel is purely on a Doylist level). It definitely lifts Edward's mood for the day and pulls him out of his guilt spiral for a bit.

Until it comes back so much worse.

Ned Low. Oh fuck the implications of Ned Low.

So here's the thing. People have rightly observed that Edward broke Ned's record intentionally during Kraken Era. In fact, since he makes the comment about "We got a record to break" after the wedding boat aka the last ship he takes, and Ned isn't coming after him for a tie, presumably he set the new record and then proceeded to break it over and over again. Just to rub it in. Just to really piss the sadist off.

And if Edward's attempt to take the whole ship and crew down with a storm at his lowest point was bad, what he was courting by baiting Ned before the season even started was worse. This is a man who would have tortured everyone on the breakup boat to death when he caught up to them, and Edward was passively planning on letting him do it.

Edward knows this.

Poison into positivity just became "oh shit I forgot I'm the most poisonous thing any of these people have ever run into," and he's just getting started. It's hard to shove it down and brush it off and pretend it was no big deal when Stede starts getting the hot poker to the chest.

He doesn't want to kill Ned because he's not worth the poison, but the poison is already here.

When Stede kills Ned, Edward has already spiraled. He's already got a whole narrative in his head about how this is all his fault, how this is his poison, his guilt, his Kraken surfacing to ruin Stede too.

"I'm not a good person, Stede. That's why I don't have any friends," Edward chokes out.

"It all boils down to this - You're afraid you're unlovable," snarls Hornigold's ghost in the gravy basket.

"I hate myself," Edward realizes.

"Don't do it, Stede. Killing in cold blood" - like I did - "you can't come back from that" - like I haven't.

Edward's guilt is projecting all over this scene. He's made some baby steps toward seeing Stede as a flawed person vs mythical mermaid whose love can save him, but the idealization is still coloring both their views. Stede still hasn't told Edward about any of his childhood traumas or deep seated insecurities, and Edward has continuously avoided putting together that Stede is fucked up as well. He's convinced himself that killing Ned Low is a great tragedy that will permanently scar Stede's previously unblemished goodness in a way that is all Edward's fault, and he's sticking to it despite how completely it does not apply.

Reality has never been much good at breaking through his self-loathing before.

Izzy tries to warn him to give Stede a minute, but Edward doesn't listen. And while there's a good amount of concerned boyfriend in that act, I also suspect there's more than a little self-harm. Edward's spiraling about what he's wrought. He shows up at Stede's door already paralleling this to killing his dad. Of course he wants to be in the blast radius.

Apparently, having sex about it.

---

"Bye-Bye" Blackbeard, See You Again Soon

Last season, when Edward's ignoring his past went poorly, he tried to metaphorically bundle Blackbeard and all his traumas up and cast them into the sea. He was "Edward Teach Born-on-a-Beach," and then "No-Beard" who found folding stuff in prison fun, and then he's kissing Stede and getting excited about picking new, cool names for China, because:

"Our old lives would be gone. Dead. Never were."

Edward, babygirl, that is not how that works.

Now, he's actively backsliding down a guilt spiral, just had ill-advised sex a day after the "take it slow" talk that he's already regretting, and he gets up in the morning, pulls on another goddamn robe, and goes to literally bundle Blackbeard up and cast him into the sea.

Babe you already tried this.

I don't think it's a coincidence that disposing of his leathers signals Edward is back to reckless change instead of intentional change. He tries to make breakfast in bed despite never having ever made breakfast before and explains his twine as a panicked decision. The idealization of Stede is back in force - he chooses now to tell him about the mermaid vision - "fantastic," he describes him - and thanks him for saving his life. (Once again, in times of trouble, Edward is the one offering up rosy imaginations for their relationship that swallow him whole and Stede is shoving his recent childhood trauma flashbacks down to be Normal™.)

In the Republic, Edward does avoid becoming straight up jealous of all Stede's positive infamy, but he's also doing his hardcore all or nothing thing again - this time running away from himself toward a grubby, poor, "nobody" version of Ed (or do we think he's gonna try "Jeff" again?). Jackie calls his attention to how his new life direction (as of 6 hours ago) is not necessarily aligned with Stede's, and - rather than doing something as crazy as talking - he mutters "shit" and heads to the docks where Izzy finds him.

For a guy who felt "Fucking great" throwing away his leathers, Edward sounds kind of sarcastic, even if I'm sure he's feeling just as light as he was on that Naval Academy beach. But Izzy - going through his own shit but still trying to be supportive - opened this conversation with a joke about Stede and I suspect thinks they are talking about putting the "Edward retiring to be with Stede" plan back on the table. (Edward could clear this up, but he's still not communicating his emotions to Izzy.) So Izzy encourages him:

"Maybe you should listen to it."

Edward's face falls, he looks back down at the fishing boat, and apparently gets himself a new job. He just needs to go dump his boyfriend about it. They're simply incompatible, you see?

Edward's a fisherman now. He's gonna sit with himself until he finds a better guy in there, just like Fang taught him. (Don't blame Fang for this 😆 he just wanted Edward to stop talking!)

Now there's a lot going on in the breakup scene, but I want to talk about one statement Edward makes (keeping in mind he's already spiraled all the way into his new fisherman identity):

"I don't even know who I am! Alright, I know I don't want to be a pirate, but you..."

Because, see - I don't think the second part of that is necessarily true.

It's not that Edward doesn't want to be "a pirate". That's what he's using as shorthand (and a way to strongly delineate his new career from Stede: "Fishermen and pirates - they're nothing alike.").

What he's not saying is, once again, I know I don't want to be Edward Teach.

And, babygirl, I love you... but too fucking bad.

---

Better Piracy as a Theme

There's a lot of meta around about how Edward views piracy as a kind of enforced toxic masculinity. How his traumas are woven so thoroughly into his Blackbeard career that the thought of continuing as a pirate is killing him. He has to retire. It's the only way he'll truly be happy as "just Edward."

And I question that framing.

Like... Edward clearly has trauma tied up in piracy. His time on Hornigold's ship appears to have defined his (and Calico's Jack's) fairly fucked up approach to casual violence. His time as Blackbeard has enabled his poor impulses, and he is absolutely sick of piracy as he's experienced it the first time we meet him. That's not in question.

But while leaving is one solution, I think change is another.

In the OFMD universe, piracy is not a stand-in for toxic masculinity. Stede, an outsider, describes it as a "culture of abuse" in the first episode, but it's the culture of piracy where we see openly gay relationships, polyamory, freedom of expression in clothing and presentation, the oppressed having power... to treat piracy as inherently toxic is to deny that the culture of piracy is what gave life to Calypso's Birthday party. Our main characters are pirates.

There is a lot of violence and most pirates are very troubled people, but it's not piracy's fault. That's getting the cause and effect reversed. The "problem" with piracy and pirate culture is that the people coming into it and building this community are already traumatized.

As Edward points out to Stede:

"It's usually something like that. It's often family-based stuff."

(Also the problem might be the pirate Captains, lol. I mean, if you start listing the major drivers and enablers of toxic culture... Hornigold, Ned Low, Calico Jack, Blackbeard. Fortunate, then, that the crew of the Revenge is demonstrating that piracy can also be about workers' unions and supporting each other against your shitty boss while operating in a thriving community. He can play nice or get out.)

Oluwande tells us from the start that people don't choose to be pirates - they get forced into it by terrible circumstances in a terrible society. Piracy is the community that accepts the outcasts, but it can't magically fix them. They have to do that themselves, which our crew is showing can be done.

Stede did not swan in with all the answers, but he gave his crew the space and all the confused-yet-well-meant support they needed to strengthen their own bonds and community. Oluwande and Frenchie especially have been really stepping up in leadership positions. Like, the whole plot of 2x05 was showing they have successfully formed a union and that they will operate as a united front against their captains if need arises. It's so good!

They are living that better culture that Stede wanted so bad, and it's not just our crew.

Piracy influenced by the Revenge crew has been shown as helpful and even desirable to chase.

Hellcat Maggie and the rest of Low's crew don't sail off to get new jobs - they are resuming piracy but this time talking about profit sharing. Anne and Mary, our oh so aggressive BlackBonnet mirrors, retired from piracy together like Edward was dreaming of in 1x09, and what "fixes" them is burning it all down and returning to piracy (rejecting Mary's fears) with their love at the forefront of their minds.

Edward wants to leave piracy behind forever because he has depression and hates himself, but the biggest thing he hates himself for isn't even a thing he did as a pirate. He's pushing back on his Hornigold trauma from the moment we meet him - in fact, I have a whole other meta idea I need to pull together after the season about how he has potentially thought he was doing "soft piracy" in spite of Hornigold this whole time - but the guilt he feels about killing his dad is still too big for him to even look at. And that won't go away even if he could cut 20+ years of Blackbeard out of his chest.

He's bored. He was stagnating. He needs to address that knot of self-loathing before it successfully drowns him.

Maybe people are right and he could be the one pirate to find peace operating a bed and breakfast? Maybe he'll follow in Jackie's footsteps and stay connected to the community by running a gay bar or something?

But I also think, maybe, he has a community surrounding him, a home and love on the sea, and a career with plenty of aspects he did enjoy - sailing, fuckeries, luxuries, creative problem solving - and he might just need to join everyone in striving for a better culture?

And step one would be realizing that wherever he goes, he's still Edward Teach, and he's got to stop running from that fact.

[everyscreentoobeseen]

Spoliers

My thoughts on Izzy's unaliving.

First of all. There was probably a better scene for Izzy to get shot in.

I know the crew are stupid but why did they let the peglegged Izzy be in charge of Ricky? It makes narrative sense for Ricky to kill Izzy but again the episode was so short the weight of it had to be cut.

I would of rather it had been Izzy taking a bullet for another character than for it to be Ricky directly but.... whatever.

I think his death is a morbid parallel to Ep 10 when he tells Edward to be Blackbeard again. That scene had weight and his funeral was nice. I'm pretty sure the dilapidated house was Izzy's. So Gentlebeard making it into an Inn is full circle.

I dont think its bury your gays or bury the disabled. It's more about the Golden Age of Piracy/Blackbeard ending metaphor since we dont get to see a real conclusion to the Navy vs Pirate skirmish.

The one thing about pirates is that they still exist even today after all the legends have died. So i think him dying but the Crew continuing after him is symbolic of that.

Real Life Pirate Queen Zheng was born 60 years after 1717. Piracy is not dead, it's just not the same as before. But it lives on, even when your gone.... Queer allegories anyone?

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Look not to put too fine a point on it BUT

Given how hard OFMD goes on the crew = family metaphor (Stede saying “my family is here at sea now” in the pilot episode, the fact that he built the ship intending to live on it with his literal biological family, the “your two dads captains are getting divorced but we still love you very much” speech, the oodles of found family vibes that we all picked up on)...

And given how both Izzy and Calico Jack (and Ed when he’s around Jack) talk and act, where we see that they’ve been completely steeped in a level of casual violence toward anyone who’s weaker or subordinate to them (see: Ed and Jack talking about how Hornigold, the guy who taught them how to be pirates, would grind people down and treat them worse than dogs, and then the story immediately flipping to violence they did to others)...

then I think it’s logical to conclude that in the world Izzy and Jack and Ed come from, if a ship is a family, then a proper pirate ship is supposed to run like an abusive family. And a proper captain is supposed to behave like an abusive father.

(Definitely do not pause here to think about young Ed Teach, who killed his abusive father, running straight into the domain of another one.)

That is the behavior that Izzy is trying to get out of Ed the whole time, and by the end of episode 10, he’s succeeded.

(My personal headcanon is that Izzy knows exactly what he’s doing, goading and provoking until he finds exactly the right nerve that makes Ed lash out. I think he knows this is a thing he can do and has done it before.)

The thing that makes Izzy grin and say there he is is not Ed leading a successful raid or outsmarting an imperialist navy--it’s Ed hurting him. And regardless of whatever weird psychosexual stuff is going on with all that (I mean look, I definitely think that stuff is there, but it’s not the only thing there) the reason this makes Izzy happy is that he thinks this is the right and proper order of things.

The thing I keep coming back to is that in the whole “Blackbeard is back” sequence...we don’t see him do any actual piracy. Every act of violence and intimidation is directed at the crew. That’s what makes it so disturbing, because we have very recently seen him interact with these people in a completely different manner.

Which makes you wonder, what actually triggers the abrupt flip in behavior? Here’s how I think the logic could go.

Whatever you think about his various “I haven’t killed anyone since” rationalizations, Ed is clearly a person who is capable of violence. And Izzy successfully provoking Ed into hurting him is his way of saying See? You’ll always have that in you, and you’re a fool to think you could be anything else. Which hits directly on Ed’s core fear about being too monstrous for someone like Stede to love. The thing that scares Ed in this scene isn’t Izzy’s threats; it’s his own capacity for violence. (What’s that line about fear being the most powerful emotion?)

And of course the unspoken corollary to this, the creepy little face touch, is But don’t worry, because I understand and accept you, the monstrous you, which is the real you.

I could write a whole separate meta about the “there he is” scene being the parallel to Badminton’s “you ruin everything you touch” speech to Stede and how both of these moments reinforce their worst fears and insecurities about themselves. Stede’s just a little bit ahead of Ed in digging himself out of that by this point in the narrative.

Meanwhile, you get the sense that Ed immediately isolates himself (not responding to the crew calling out for him, literally hiding from them until some time that night). So he has hours to stew in his own mess of self-loathing and negative thought patterns, and when the exact person who would be most likely to talk some reason into him appears, he make sure to chuck him overboard before he gets the chance.

The really fucked-up thing is that I do think Izzy sees what he’s doing as a form of caring for Ed, a way of protecting him. He’s saying Wake up. You don’t live in a rom-com anymore. You live in a world of monsters, and the only defense against a monster is to be a bigger monster.

(If you think that’s the kind of world you live in, then it’s not only right but responsible to reinforce those patterns of behavior in your loved ones and pass them on, through example, to your children subordinates, because you’re teaching them how to survive.)

And by leaving the threat there (“Edward better watch his fucking step”) Izzy is leaving an invitation. Show me you can protect yourself by being a monster. Make me respect you again with violence, which is the only currency that matters. And Ed promptly takes him up on the invitation. To which the response is: There we go. See how good you are at that? Now go do it to everyone else.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Beneath a Black Flag

Summary: Having turned to a life of piracy after being betrayed by the Amestrian navy, Captain Roy Mustang and Quartermaster Maes Hughes of the Phoenix are on a mission to find the wreck of the legendary treasure ship Xerxes, hoping to both strike rich and prevent the mythical Philosopher’s Stone from ending up in the navy’s clutches…

Written for the WriYe August Shorts Challenge, and very loosely inspired by Black Sails.

Rated: T

Beneath a Black Flag

Seeing the lights of Port Aerugo always felt like coming home. Even back when he’d been a legitimate navy captain, Roy had always felt more at ease in the rough and ready world of the southern port, with its bars and brothels and black market warehouses, than he had ever done in the more respectable places that his ships had docked in. The Amestrian navy had always adopted a laissez-faire attitude to the place: several attempts to ‘civilise’ it had fallen flat, ending in easy victory for the pirates who made it their base of operations, and humiliation for the navy. 

The Phoenix dropped anchor in the bay and her crew started to disembark, eager for the pleasures of dry land after a long and difficult last haul. Still, the trip had been successful, which had raised people’s spirits no end. 

“Roy? Were you intending on getting off this ship any time soon? Earth to Roy?”

Roy turned from his position gazing out over the Port Aerugo twilight and found Maes behind him, arms folded and an amused expression on his face.

“For someone who lives on the sea, you’re spending a worrying amount of time with your head in the clouds.” Maes came up beside him, leaning on the rail. “What’s eating you this time?”

Roy sighed. “I’m just thinking about the magnitude of what we’ve taken on. Do you ever look at what we’re doing and think ‘this is madness, I should pack it all in and become a tomato farmer instead’?”

“Yes. Frequently. But I know you’ve got a plan, however hare-brained it might be, so I trust you to navigate us through it. I’m not promising that I’m not going to force you into tomato farming as soon as it’s all over, though. You actually will give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“Have I ever got us killed?”

“No,” Maes admitted, “but you can’t deny that we’ve had some very close calls.”

Roy grimaced. He definitely couldn’t deny it, and he would have to admit to being glad that their next sortie would hopefully provide the last piece of the puzzle that they had been chasing for so long and bring with it the reward they desperately sought. All they had to do now was to stay one step ahead of the navy, but that was proving easier said than done.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked Maes eventually.

“What, the navy?”

“Yes. Well, not the navy specifically. But the time before, when life was less complicated.”

“Was life really less complicated in the navy? It wasn’t as hard and it probably wasn’t quite as constantly dangerous, but complicated? Roy, you of all people know that it was infinitely more complicated back then.” He wrapped an arm around Roy’s shoulders and pulled him in close, pressing a kiss to his temple, and Roy had to smile. “Do you really want to go back to a time when we had to hide?”

In a way, piracy was nothing but hiding, always trying to outfox the navy, but ever since they had started sailing under a black flag, Roy and Maes had never had to hide their relationship or make out that they were something they weren’t. Snatched moments here and there and the ever-present threat of being found out and court-martialed for daring to fall in love had given way to easy acceptance and the closeness that they’d never been allowed before.

“No,” he agreed. “I’d rather have this.”

Maes gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go ashore. Everyone else has already left apart from the night watch. I’m beginning to forget what dry land looks like.”

Captain and quartermaster made their way towards the final longboat making preparations for its launch, and soon they were walking through the streets of Port Aerugo. It was a place that never slept, coming even more alive after dark when the drunks started carousing and the brothel girls started touting for business. Roy and Maes were well-known enough not to be bothered by the latter, who just gave them a cheerful wave as they went past and went to try their luck with the other, incredibly willing members of Phoenix’s crew.

As always, their path took them to Madam Christmas’s. Bar and brothel rolled into one, the place had always tried to maintain an air of elegance in an increasingly tawdry world, and above all its other attractions, it would always be a safe place for Roy.

Madam Christmas gave them a nod as they walked in, whisky ready on the counter for them. Roy knocked it back, savouring the burn.

“This is good stuff. Whose prize did you skim this off the top of?”

Madam Christmas laughed. “I got it from Armstrong. The cask was too bloody to be sold on through the warehouse so I took it off her hands for a very reasonable price.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. Oliver Armstrong was known for being absolutely terrifying, but in his experience her reputation preceded her so much that she never needed to resort to bloodshed. Crews saw the Briggs Fortress coming with its black flag flying and they just handed over their manifests with their hands up.

“It’s not like her to make a mess,” Maes commented. “She likes things quick and simple.”

“I’m sure that this one would have been quick and simple too if some idiot hadn’t signed his own death warrant by telling her she ought to be off having babies instead of captaining a pirate ship.

“Ah.” Maes and Roy looked at each other. “Yes, that would definitely do it.”

“I bet she and Riza had a great laugh about it afterwards. Anyway, enough of Armstrong. I take it that your voyage was successful?”

Roy nodded. “Yes. We’re ready to go as soon as Phoenix is prepared for the trip.”

Madam Christmas let out a low whistle. “You really think you’ve found it? I was beginning to believe the nay-sayers who maintain that the lost treasure of Xerxes is just a myth.”

There was a small part of Roy that would admit that he too was beginning to believe the same. The legendary treasure ship had wrecked somewhere in the southern seas decades ago, and so many stories had been built up around it over time that it was difficult to know what was real and what was embellishment, with all the accounts varying wildly. 

Just one thread had remained constant throughout, and that was the thread that Roy had never stopped pulling on. Among the treasures on board the Xerxes was a Philosopher’s Stone.

All alchemists were familiar with the concept of Philosopher’s Stones and Roy was no exception. Rarer than the rubies they resembled, the navy had been trying to get their hands on one for as long as anyone could remember. Whilst Roy didn’t believe the stories of turning lead into gold or producing the elixir of life, he absolutely believed in the stone being used to bypass equivalent exchange and make alchemists’ raw power stronger by tenfold.

Which was why Roy was determined to stop the navy getting anywhere near one by any means necessary.

“Well.” Madam Christmas gave Roy an impressed look. “If you can track it down then more power to you. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I’m well aware of your thoughts on the whole matter. Just as long as you give me a cut of the treasure for giving you bed and board all these years.”

Roy rolled his eyes but he couldn’t deny that it had been a blessing to have a home base that wasn’t floating. There was always a bed waiting for him at Madam Christmas’s, and finishing his second shot of Olivier Armstrong’s filched whisky, he decided it was high time that he made his way there. Maes followed him out of the bar. Tomorrow the real work would begin, prepping the Phoenix for her next and arguably most important journey and charting their course for the fabled location of the Xerxes wreck, but tonight could just be for them, and they could forget the trials they would soon be facing.

X

Roy never slept properly the first night back on dry land after a long voyage, missing the gentle - and sometimes not so gentle - rocking of the ship to lull him off to sleep. He envied Maes, who could drop off anywhere in any position and be completely dead to the world within five minutes. 

He ran his fingertips over the scar on Maes’s chest, too close to his heart for comfort. All pirates had scars, most had many, and they were generally worn as badges of honour for battles survived. This one, though… This one was the reason they were here in the first place, the moment that had started this very long journey towards the Xerxes treasure.

“Stop thinking about it.” Maes caught his wandering hand, opening his eyes and looking up at Roy blearily. “I survived, that’s all that matters.”

Roy rolled over, looking up at the ceiling. He knew that Maes was right, of course, but he couldn’t help thinking about what might have been. It was something he dwelled on often.

Most pirates did not set out to become pirates and Roy was no exception. He had never had any desire to turn to a life of piracy in his younger days. His first interest had always been alchemy, and going into the military as a naval alchemist had seemed like a natural career progression. Every ship in the navy carried an alchemist as standard; it was almost guaranteed job security. Most pirate ships carried at least one as well - Roy had never known whether the navy’s alchemy programme was a response to the pirates or if it was the other way round, but the set up had been established for so long that no one really questioned it. 

He had earned his alchemy license and graduated from the naval academy where he had met Maes and history had been made. They had joined a ship, and Roy was pretty sure that neither of them had intended to look back, despite the constant difficulty and secrecy that had to surround their relationship. 

Life had never been anything close to perfect, but it was as good as Roy thought that they would ever get, and he had been content with it. It had all been going really well until the incident at the admiralty. 

He was pulled out of his train of thought by Maes rolling over on top of him and leaning in for a long kiss.

“You worry too much,” he said softly once he finally let Roy up for air. “And you always seem to blame yourself for things that weren’t anything to do with you.”

“Maes…”

“Oh, shush.” He kissed him again and Roy surrendered into it, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Maes’s back to pull him in closer. It was easy to push the uneasy thoughts to the side when they were like this, Maes warm and solid and very alive in his arms reminding him that despite what might have happened, it did not actually happen, and the past wasn’t a place that it was healthy to stay in for too long. 

After all, when it came down to it, they would never have found out about the navy’s plans for the Philosopher’s Stone if it hadn’t been for everything that had happened. They would all still be blissfully unaware and unwittingly assisting in potentially ending the world as everyone knew it. As it was, Maes had chased a loose thread that the navy had most definitely not wanted him to chase, and ended up with a bullet in his chest for the trouble. 

Roy had cut all ties with the navy as soon as he had found Maes collapsed halfway down the street from the admiralty building, and whilst he might often look back and wonder what might have been after that moonlit flit to Port Aerugo, he could never bring himself to regret it doing what he had done and both of them ending up joining the life of piracy.

“Now…” Maes purred in his ear, making Roy’s stomach flip-flop. “For the love of God will you go to sleep.”

Roy couldn’t help laughing. 

X

The weather was good for making repairs, bright sunshine and a cool breeze, but not enough wind to make working on the sails and rigging unwieldy and dangerous. A thorough assessment of the damage sustained on their last sortie had shown that the problems were largely superficial, and Phoenix should be fully ship-shape again within just a couple of days. Leaving the crew to tackle the repairs and Maes to supervise restocking for their next and most important voyage, Roy was gathering intelligence. It was all very well having worked out where the Xerxes had wrecked, but that wasn’t going to be of any use if the navy were swarming all over the area. Roy really didn’t want to have to shoot his way out. Or shoot his way in, for that matter. 

“Mustang. It’s been a while.”

Grumman was in his usual haunt, sitting in one corner of the Armstrongs’ bar in the shadows with his hat pulled down over his eyes, trying to affect an air of mystery. Unfortunately, Roy had known him long enough to know that there was no mystery at all to him, he was simply a very shrewd man with a lot of contacts in strange places. Even those completely new to Port Aerugo tended to regard him with raised eyebrows rather than any kind of awe these days. 

“It has, Grumman. Can I get you something?”

“That depends.” Grumman swung his feet down off the table and leaned in. “What do you want in return?”

“Information, Grumman, like always. Preferably useful information and preferably about naval movements in the coming weeks.”

“Well, I think I might be able to help you there. You know my usual.”

With alcohol procured, Mustang returned to Grumman’s information dispensary and settled in for one of the old man’s stories. He was surprised when he didn’t spin off into a tale about his granddaughter’s latest exploits. 

“So, you’ve found it then?”

“Potentially. Either way, I’d rather not have the navy on my back when I go looking for it.”

“No, I can appreciate that. I’ll admit that I haven’t had any reports for a few days, but it’s not looking too bad out there, just the usual patrols, and they don’t normally go as far south as you’ll be heading. At least, I assume that you’ll be heading south?”

Roy made no indication either way. He considered Grumman to be a friend, but information was money in all businesses and he didn’t trust the old fox as far as he could throw him. He knew that he was not the only pirate in Port Aerugo who was on a quest for the Philosopher’s Stone, and he knew that not all of them had the same intentions as he did. 

He hoped that familial loyalty would win out in the end when it came to Grumman, though. His daughter sailed with Armstrong - hence his permanent fixture in her family’s bar - and Armstrong’s opinion of the navy and the Philosopher’s Stone were well-known. Roy certainly wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her by assisting in anything other than the Stone’s ultimate destruction.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck in your endeavours,” Grumman said. “Of course, if you do find what you’re looking for then I’m sure that the residents of Port Aerugo will be expecting you to keep them in rum for a long time to come.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “If I do find what I’m looking for, Grumman, then Hughes and I will be retiring to the country and never setting foot on a ship again.”

Grumman just chuckled. “You’d never do that. You enjoy the call of the sea too much.”

Roy left Grumman to it, paying for another drink for the old man and heading back towards the Phoenix. He didn’t really have any intention to retire on his potential gains from this journey, he was far too cynical to believe in such romantic notions, but he couldn’t deny that he often thought about a life without looking over his shoulder for the navy every five minutes. Perhaps he could be one step closer to that at least. 

X

It was a cool and clear morning when they set sail in search of the goal that they had been chasing for so long, a strong wind blowing them steadily away from Port Aerugo and into the southern seas. It should have been the ideal conditions for starting a voyage, and indeed, most of the crew were in high spirits having had such a good beginning - hopes were high that they would ultimately succeed. 

There was something in the air that made Roy uneasy though. He couldn’t really pinpoint what it was, putting it down to just an alchemist’s instinct. 

“Hey. It’ll be ok. Whatever gets thrown at us, we can weather it.” 

Roy laughed as Maes came up beside him. “I’ve never understood where you get your relentless optimism from.”

“Well, it’s certainly not from you. Being shot by your own side tends to put things in perspective and you learn that life’s too short to be morose. Just think of all the riches that are coming our way. I know, I know, that’s not the reason why you’re doing this, but stop thinking altruistically for a moment and bask in the glory of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination.”

“I suppose there’s something comforting in that,” Roy agreed. He looked out at the open sea in front of them again. It would take a few days of sailing before they came into sight of the supposed wreck site, and it didn’t seem like there would be anything getting in their way. Even with Grumman’s intelligence, though, the navy were never to be trusted not to put a spanner in the works. Sometimes Roy thought that they had some kind of sixth sense going on with their uncanny ability to be just where they weren’t wanted. 

Someone hailed Maes and Roy was left alone with his thoughts. He turned back to survey the bustle of the ship’s normal operations. They had started life as a rather rag-tag bunch, many of them leaving the navy for various reasons that Roy had not inquired into, but over time they had come together into an efficient crew who worked well together. Breda was at the helm, keeping Phoenix steady as she cut through the sea, Havoc up in the crow’s nest keeping watch, Catalina and Fuery scampering over the rigging. Roy would trust this crew with his life, and when he thought about what was at stake for them on this latest outing, he knew he would far rather have these people by his side than any of the naval crews he had sailed with in his time.

All the same, he still couldn’t get that uneasy feeling to go away, despite the perfect conditions, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Perfect conditions for them meant perfect conditions for every other ship that might be out here in the southern waters with potentially nefarious intent.

The other shoe dropped three days into their voyage when the wind began to pick up further.

“Sails!” Havoc yelled down from the crow’s nest.

“What? Shit.” Roy whirled around to look in the direction that Havoc was indicating, finding the bearing he was shouting and extending his telescope. 

“Friendly or not?” Maes had jogged over to him and was leaning over the railing, squinting at the vague white shapes on the horizon. 

“Likely not, looks like a navy flag.” Roy looked back at the helm. “Maintain present course and speed.”

Breda nodded, holding the helm steady as Roy continued to look at the ship that had joined them.

“Dammit, Grumman said that there weren’t any patrols in this area.”

“I know he’s usually pretty reliable but he’s been wrong before. Sometimes the navy just like to mess with us.”

“I swear they’re psychic,” Roy muttered. He held out the telescope to Maes. 

“I don’t know why you’re giving it to me, I’ve got the worst eyesight on the ship.”

“Just take a look.”

Maes dutifully took a look. “I think you’re right. Definitely looks like a navy ship. She’s going at a hell of a lick as well, we’ll be able to see for ourselves shortly.”

“As long as she keeps coming straight and doesn’t turn.” Roy did not want to be broadsided by a full navy cannonade. They were going at a steady pace themselves and if they kept up this way then there was the slim chance that the two ships paths would not cross and the navy ship would end up behind them, playing catch-up and giving them the upper hand. 

“I really don’t like this,” Maes said. “It’s too much of a coincidence for them to be in the same place as us.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret that we’ve been hunting the Xerxes all this time, but I thought that our main problem would be competition, not the navy. They must be getting desperate if they’re following up on gossip coming out of Port Aerugo. You’re right, though. I don’t like it at all.” He turned to the rest of the crew, all of whom were now watching the fast approaching sails. “Ready the cannons!”

The crew jumped to it, all those that could be spared racing down to the cannons and beginning to prepare them. Roy really hoped it would come to nothing, but as the navy ship kept bearing down towards them, he knew that it would be in vain.

“It had to be the Bradley, didn’t it? Of all the ships in the fleet, the one that came after us had to be the Bradley.”

The approaching ship was beginning to turn side-on to them. It was a double-edged sword; they had a larger target to hit with their own cannons, but they were now also a larger target for the navy’s. 

The Phoenix had one thing that the navy didn’t, though. The Phoenix had Roy. Leaving Maes in charge on deck, he went below to the guns, checking the fuses as he pulled on his spark gloves. Flames on board a ship full of gunpowder were not normally a good idea, and his choice to learn flame alchemy as a potential alchemist afloat had raised more than a few eyebrows, but his years aboard Phoenix and the many tricky situations he had found himself in had honed his skills considerably. 

The rest of the crew, having seen him in action many times before, dutifully stood back before he snapped, pinpoint flames igniting the fuses just at the precise moments that he needed them. The thunder of the cannon nearly deafened him, but he could see that at least some of the balls had hit their mark. Now it was time for the navy to return fire as they reloaded.

“Incoming!”

Roy heard the earsplitting crunch of a cannonball blasting the railings on deck above him and he grimaced. The ship’s master would not be happy about that one. 

“Sails to starboard!”

Roy swore violently on hearing the exclamation being passed around the ship from the crow’s nest. Somehow they’d managed to get themselves into a trap. This was not how he had envisioned this trip going. They had done so well at avoiding the naval patrols. 

The cannons reloaded, Roy set the fuses again before Maes stuck his head down onto the gun deck and hailed him.

“Captain, we’ve got a problem..”

“I heard. Any identification yet?”

Above them, the crew hit the deck as another volley of cannon fire from the Bradley soared over them. Most of the balls this time seemed to fall short; perhaps they’d overdone it on the powder the first time. 

“No flags,” Maes said. “Wait…”

He vanished up onto the deck again as Breda called out to him, and Roy took advantage of the brief lull of reloading to peer out of one of the gun ports with his telescope. Another ship was indeed bearing down on them from the opposite side, this one fighting against the wind and creaking with the speed that it was putting on. There were no identifying flags on it, and it didn’t appear to be a typical naval ship.

“Captain, we’re being hailed.”

This time it was Fuery coming down onto the gun deck. Roy followed him back up, watching the little flashes of light from the approaching ship.

Need a hand Mustang?

Relief flooded through Roy’s veins as the newcomers unfurled a black flag and swung the ship around. Now that they were closer, he could recognise Briggs Fortress, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so pleased to see Olivier Armstrong in his life. 

X

“Message from the Briggs, Captain. Armstrong and Hawkeye are coming over.”

As fearsome as the Bradley was, the pride of the Amestrian navy that struck annoyance if not fear into the hearts of pirates everywhere, it was no match for two ships working together to scupper it, and the Phoenix and the Briggs had left it floundering and unsteerable with most of its crew bobbing in the water behind them, sailing the same course together for a few miles until they were sure that they were out of harm’s way and could slow down to make any immediately needed repairs.

Fuery threw a line over the side as one of the Briggs’ longboats drew up alongside them, and a couple of minutes later, Olivier and Riza were on the deck. 

“Well, that was bracing,” Olivier said grimly. “Honestly, Mustang, you should know better than to go after something as big as the Xerxes without a consort.”

Pirate ships usually worked alone, after all, there were a limited number of prizes on the seas and they were all in competition for their livelihoods, but it wasn’t unheard of for a couple of crews to team up and go after a particularly lucrative or well-guarded ship in return for sharing the profits. In the case of the Xerxes, Olivier did have a point, especially considering how much naval interest there was in locating the wreck, and the fact that the treasure wasn’t their main objective anyway. 

“Mind you, this is you we’re talking about, and your capacity for idiocy is well-known, so I can’t say that I’m exactly surprised by this.”

Roy sighed but didn’t rise to the bait; he was too grateful for the help that the Briggs crew had provided to argue with Olivier now.

“I didn’t want to publicise things too much. Not everyone is as scrupulous as you and I when it comes to what’s at stake here.”

“Mustang, my thoughts on the navy, the Philosopher’s Stone, and alchemy in general are well known. As much as it pains me to say it, I’ll gladly work with you to keep the bloody thing out of the wrong hands. Anyway, I suppose we should explain our fortuitous presence here.”

“I was going to ask about that,” Maes said, eyeing the two women with equal parts respect and suspicion. “Has Grumman been spilling his secrets?”

“In a manner. When he received intelligence that the navy were on the move into the south, specifically where you were going and where he’d told you they weren’t likely to go, he felt it courteous to let you know, and since we were in the area, Riza persuaded me to take off on a mad goose chase after you.” Olivier shot a glance sideways at her lover. “The things I do for you. Anyway, it looks like it was lucky we arrived when we did.”

Roy nodded. “Thank you.” 

The four of them moved into Roy’s cabin to discuss the route that they were taking and the approximate location of the treasure that they had finally found. It felt strange to be sharing it so openly having spent so many months trying to keep their research under wraps, but they were so close to the end of it all now. Roy really didn’t want to face another situation like the one they’d just narrowly escaped without being able to make repairs to the ship. They couldn’t afford to turn back towards Port Aerugo now, not with the navy on their tail already.

Riza looked over the maps, giving everything her expert navigator’s eye.

“I’ve no idea how you managed to piece it all together,” she said, “but it all looks watertight.”

“Well, in that case, shall we get going?” Maes asked. “This little skirmish has lost us some valuable time and we need to course correct. If the Bradley's out here then she won’t be alone, and I’d rather get as much of a head start as possible.”

“See, your quartermaster talks sense,” Olivier complained as she and Riza made their way back towards their longboat. “You should listen to him.”

“Yes, Roy. You should listen to me.”

Roy just smacked Maes in the arm.

“Ow! Man down! Man down!”

“It’ll be man overboard if you’re not careful,” Roy growled.

In the longboat, Riza rolled her eyes as she and Olivier began to row back to the Briggs.

“Sometimes I wonder how those two manage to get anything done.”

X

“Is this it? I have to say, Mustang, you’re not filling me with an awful lot of confidence here.”

They had reached the supposed site of the Xerxes wreck, the Briggs coming up alongside the Phoenix and dropping anchor as Olivier shouted across the prow. So far they had not come across any other navy vessels in the area, but the Bradley was the fastest in the fleet so it made sense that she would catch up to them first. Roy was already working out a more circuitous route back to Port Aerugo to try and avoid the other ships that had no doubt been sent after the advance guard.

On the face of it, he had to admit that Olivier had a point. The place that they had come to was little more than a large jagged rock sticking up out of the water, seemingly innocuous. It certainly wasn’t an island large enough to have treasure buried on it, but given some of the lethal-looking protrusions, he could well see why the Xerxes would have wrecked here on a dark and stormy night.

“According to all the research I’ve done, this is where she wrecked. The sea levels and tides have to be just right for the rock to be visible about the waterline.”

Riza leaned over the rail and peered down into the still waters below. 

“I can’t see anything down there but then, we don’t know how deep it might go.”

“We’re not looking for the wreck itself anyway,” Roy pointed out. “It’ll be nothing more than rotten planks by now. We’re looking for what was on the wreck, and it should be on that rock.”

“For the love of God, Mustang, where?”

“You’ll see. Hughes, are you coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Captain.” Maes followed him over to where Breda and Fuery were making a longboat ready to cast off, and soon they were rowing in towards the rock. It was a fraught journey, the waves lapping against the rock causing odd eddies that threatened to bash them against the side, and the ever present threat of being snuck up on by the navy was weighing heavy in the back of Roy’s mind all the time. 

“You’re a sly one, Mustang.” 

They had reached a fissure in the rock, invisible to them from the distance of the ships and only appearing once they were up close. If Roy’s theory proved true, then it was inside this fissure that the treasure of Xerxes would be found. With the fissure so well-hidden and the rock half-submerged most of the time, it would be the perfect resting place, and there was little wonder that no-one else had tracked it down before.

They tied up the boats and clambered awkwardly up onto the rock, lighting lanterns before edging their way into the fissure. It was tight going at first, but opened out after a few yards to give them more breathing space. Maes was leading the way, Riza bringing up the rear, leaving Roy with Olivier in the middle. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, and he was glad that the trip would hopefully be a short one. The tunnel angled down a steep incline and Roy could tell that they were below the waterline now. Hopefully they’d be able to get back up again. 

“Captain.”

Maes stopped abruptly, causing Roy to nearly run into him, and he peered over his quartermaster’s shoulder, grinning.”

“Ye of little faith, Armstrong.”

It was not the massive haul that legend had built it up into, but Roy had been expecting that. With something like the Xerxes, everything about it had been blown so out of proportion that the tales had reached the stage of the thing being rumoured to have been carrying so much gold that any ordinary ship would have sunk under the sheer weight of it. 

It was still a decent prize though; even after splitting with the crew of the Briggs it would be a hefty nest egg for them all. 

“Enough to retire on, do you think?” Maes asked. “Get a little place in the country and live comfortably?” 

“Potentially. We’ll have to get Falman and Fuery to make a proper account of it back in Aerugo.” They moved further into the small cavern where the treasure had been stored. The gold and jewels were not their main concern and all four of them knew it. Riza turned back to get help from the ships to shift the loot, and Olivier came into the cavern.

“Right, let’s find this blessed stone and get out of here before we’ve got the navy breathing down our necks again.”

Looking for a red stone in a chest full of jewels was never going to be the easiest of tasks, but the sooner they started sifting, the sooner they could be sure of making sure that the thing  was lost forever. Roy really didn’t like the idea of having it hiding in plain sight on the Phoenix or the Briggs for any longer than necessary. 

“Got it.” Maes held up a leather satchel unearthed from the bottom of one of the chests and rolled his eyes when Olivier and Roy both gave him incredulous looks. “Yes, I know it’s not the stone. Captain’s log. It might give us a clue where to look.”

He began filing through waterlogged pages as Olivier and Roy continued to work through separating out everything that remotely resembled a ruby until Riza returned with a few men from both ships, forming a chain to pass everything out of the cavern and along the fissure. 

“We’ve got sails on the horizon,” she warned. “Miles reckons we’ve got just under three hours before they’re in firing range and they’re riding low, they’ve got the heavy guns.”

“All right, we can focus on finding objects of mass destruction later, let’s move on out.”

Both crews were used to clearing loot quickly; it never did to take your time grabbing merchandise off a boarded ship when the navy might pounce at any moment, and soon the cavern was cleaned out and the two ships were weighing anchor, moving away from the rock in convoy. The navy sails were still on their tail and the lookouts were keeping sharp eyes on them, but they were not yet in a position where it looked like they were gaining, and Roy was confident of his ability to lose them once they were back in more familiar waters. If necessary they could split up, each of them leading a navy ship away. Maes was still reading the captain’s log in a desperate search for something that could help them.

Roy watched the expressions that crossed over Maes’s face as he skimmed over the last couple of pages of text. He seemed to run the entire gamut from overjoyed to incredulous to angry and back again.

“Roy, take a look at this.” He came over, handing off a couple of damp sheets of parchment. The ink had run and the writing was barely legible, but Roy could still make out the captain of the Xerxes’s final message.

The rest of the treasure I shall leave in this rock. Those canny enough to find it are welcome to it. I myself have no further need of it. To those who come in search of the Philosopher’s Stone, I can offer only disappointment. There is no stone. There never was. It was a legend we concocted and fed to strike fear into the hearts of those who might set upon us for our cargo. Take the jewels and leave all foolish attempts of immortality and power beyond imagination behind. 

May the wind always be at your back. VH. 1756

Roy had to read it three times before the message sank in. On the one hand, this entire outing had been for nothing. It meant that they had left the navy for nothing, Maes had been shot for nothing. On the other hand, they didn’t need to worry about the Philosopher’s Stone falling into the navy’s hands now, and they had a boatload of treasure to boot. It was all so unbelievably ludicrous that Roy couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Roy?” Maes was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Roy, are you ok?”

Roy nodded, pulling Maes in close out of sheer relief that it was all over. Maes’s arms came around him, the safe haven that he’d always been, and Roy sighed. 

“We’re definitely retiring after this.”

“I’m already planning the tomato farm.” 

They stayed in their embrace for a little while longer until Roy finally broke away. 

“We should tell Armstrong that she can call off the search in her share of the loot.”

“I’ll get Fuery to send a message over. Honestly, trust us to go on a righteous mission to rid the world of a dangerous legendary artefact only to find that it never existed in the first place.”

It was an odd irony, but as they looked out over the open sea in front of them, Roy could not bring himself to care. All was well that ended well, and with the news from Havoc in the crow’s nest that they had lost the navy ships following them, all was definitely ending well and heading in the direction of a bright new beginning.

[projectalbum]

First 100 down. 96. “Rockin’ the Suburbs,” 97. “Ben Folds Live,” 98. “Songs for Silverman,” 99. “Way to Normal,” 100. “Stems and Seeds,” 101. “Lonely Avenue,” 102. “So There” by Ben Folds

I owe Nick Hornby for the introduction.

The High Fidelity author’s collection of essays on pop music, Songbook, made the case for Ben Folds’ contributions to the canon in a chapter on “Smoke.” Hornby writes so persuasively, in a deceptively casual style that I’m perhaps a bit too pretentious to ever approach with my own pop culture writing. There’s a lot of music covered in his book that I failed to investigate on my own. But that particular passage must have triggered something in the back of my mind, some residual impression of “Brick,” perhaps, which sent me to the Web for those first BFF tracks (none of which were “Smoke,” by the way, though I agree with Hornby’s appraisal of its lyrical strength).

It quickly became a total fandom— I now have all the official LP’s, band and solo, and the EP’s are floating in the digital ether of hard drives and burned discs. I even bought the soundtrack to the little-remembered Dreamworks quirky CG animal picture Over The Hedge, to which Folds contributed several original tracks (a soundtrack that marked his most recent collaboration with William Shatner, a pairing that also yielded a full-length, Has Been, which is a simultaneously ironic AND unironic great listen.) No one is going to bestow the crown of ultimate Ben Folds fanboy on my head— I’ve ONLY seen him live twice, and neither time was even with a symphony orchestra! Nevertheless, I’ve been following his output for a good decade, and my record is solid.

His records are also solid (as is this excellent segue), exploring the outer limits of musical flavors available to a largely pop-oriented guy with a piano and an ear for harmony. Rockin’ the Suburbs (#96), his first post-Five record (exempting Fear of Pop: Volume 1, an experimental doodle from the era of the Messner recordings, which I only mention to smugly show off my bonafides yet again), incorporates synthesizer squeals, a Korn-parody guitar breakdown, treated keyboards, and strings, but his ivories are still at the forefront. His lyrics here are the ultimate template for the rest of his career, featuring: the irreverent humor of a class cut-up (like “Rockin’ The Suburbs’” self-aware chorus or the climactic, harmonized shout of “Motherfucker!” that ends “Fired”), the incisive character sketches of a short story author (“Fred Jones, Pt. 2” is a mini-masterpiece of well-observed details, but I think “Carrying Cathy” is downright shattering), and the delicate balance of sentiment any memoirist must strike (“Still Fighting It” hits the bullseye, but “The Luckiest” is a bit too goopy for me).

I have always had a big soft spot for Songs for Silverman (#98), which has been painted by some critics and BFF fans as a turn into mopey adult contemporary. There are a couple of skippable tracks, for sure, but it doesn’t sound as far from the old days as the doubters believe. After handling most of the instruments on Suburbs by himself, and doing a quite literal solo tour- just the man and his Baby Grand- as documented on the superb Ben Folds Live (#97), Folds missed the sonic chemistry that came from having a band in the studio. Though Jessee and Sledge had followed their own paths (the former touring with Sharon Van Etten, the latter adopting an existence of a lower key than the music business), Folds assembled a more than capable bass/drums duo to pump up the jazzy breakdown in “Bastard” and the chorus of “You to Thank.”

“Landed,” even without the orchestral strings that he later decided overwhelmed the melody, has rightfully earned its place in the classic Folds firmament. Hearing the introductory notes at my first Ben Folds show was enough to conjure a lump in my throat. Seemed weird for me to get unduly emotional about it: the chorus is upbeat (complete with signature “Ba-ba-ba-ba”s) and the story of a man emerging from a controlling relationship is not something I’ve experienced or even witnessed, so I can only interpret this as a reaction to the beauty of hearing a masterful pop song.

As the Web became more of a presence in daily life, and piracy was taking huge bites out of the music industry, Folds ably kept pace with the evolving relationship between an artist and his fans. That included embracing the nascent social media networks- which by the mid-2000s meant MySpace- and posting new music before it hit the streets. During my first couple years of college, I had one of these tricked-out profiles myself. This may have been the way I first heard, in 2008, the “fake” tracks.

Alternately crude and tremblingly earnest, they were a collection of “leaked” songs ostensibly from Folds’ forthcoming album, Way To Normal (#99). There was “Bitch Went Nutz,” a 1st person narrative about a Republi-bro scandalized in front of his peers by his Anarcho-Socialist fuck buddy that plays like the most profane “Weird Al” Yankovic pastiche ever. And “Cologne (Piano Orchestra Version),” a stunningly pretty concerto-ballad that gets absurdly overblown with a chanting male chorus and a dozen keyboards playing at once. And a handful of winkingly self-serious social justice ballads. All written and recorded, it was later revealed, in about a day, and launched into the bootleg blogosphere as a prank.

These were eventually officially released on Stems and Seeds (#100), alongside alternately-mastered versions of the “real” songs. The legitimate tracks found on the official LP are only slightly more tasteful, with a somewhat explicit Divorce Record vibe on kiss-offs like “You Don’t Know Me” (with Regina Spektor lending her magic) and “Brainwascht” (about the battle lines that can be drawn between mutual friends of split couples). When the lyrics are slightly regrettable (like the stereotype-mining “Bitch Went Nuts”), the melodies usually carry it. Exceptions would be the intentionally-grating “Errant Dog,” and the limp celebrity satire “Free Coffee” (skippable on record, but in live shows, Folds illustrates how he gets the treated piano sound by placing Altoids tins on his strings, which is a bit of nerdy fun).

Things came pleasingly full circle when it was announced that Folds was co-writing an entire album with Nick Hornby. The mutual appreciation society of these two artists had become a collaboration outlined right on Lonely Avenue's (#101) cover art: “Ben Folds Adds Music and Melody to Nick Hornby’s Words.” It’s a magical working relationship mirrored in their biographical tribute “Doc Pomus,” about the irascible musician who penned classic rock standards like “This Magic Moment” and “Save The Last Dance For Me” alongside Mort Shuman. This sense of pop history permeates 70’s-influenced arrangements like “Password” and “Belinda,” the latter about a Manilow-esque crooner reflecting on the love that inspired his greatest hit, who he callously abandoned for a fling with a flight attendant sporting “big breasts, a nice smile, [and] no kids, either.”

My 2 favorite tracks are a study in tonal opposites: “Claire’s Ninth,” a delicately affecting portrait of a young girl in the middle of a chilly but courteous divorce, and “Saskia Hamilton,” a gleefully nerdy ode to the most phonetically pleasing poet’s name ever. Their musical commonality is that neither one is a slow-tempo plaintive ballad, which have their place, but are the Folds tunes that I tend to skip in his later releases. “Claire’s” chords are jazzy and gently driving, with gorgeous vocal harmonies in the chorus; “Saskia” is frantic, driven by old school Moog synthesizer, with quirky flourishes like the female opera singer making a vocal cameo in the breakdown— it feels like a mutual homage between the song’s authors to “Weird Al”’s more esoteric original compositions.

So There (#102), while technically reaching full-length status with the inclusion of a real-deal “Concerto For Piano and Orchestra,” feels oddly slight. It was hyped by the artist himself as a unique new collaboration: pianist and new classical ensemble making pop songs together. He had experience with performing full-orchestra arrangements of his older songs (as on the excellent DVD “Ben Folds and WASO Live in Perth”) and overdubbing strings on new recordings, but this he advertised as a from-the-jump co-written project with yMusic, a sextet of players bringing strings, woodwinds, and brass. The Chamber Pop tracks that result have their delicate beauty, but the album resists falling into a snoozy easy-listening trap by alternating the ballads with the kind of sprightly, pazz and jop numbers that similarly kept Silverman moving.

It’s all just so… pleasant, and it seems to slip out of my mind and soon as I’ve heard it. If you were to strip-mine it for a Ben Folds playlist, I would pick out the title track for one, with its trilling strings, burbling brass, and father/daughter harmonizing. The instrumental section after the first chorus- what it might be appropriate to call the 2nd Movement- gets closest to fulfilling the promise inherent in the album’s Chamber Pop experiment. I might sound overly harsh on this release— re-listening to it while writing this post, there’s nothing that’s a huge turnoff, or a waste of time (except maybe the metaphorically one-note novelty track “F10-D-A,” which, granted, doesn’t outstay its welcome, running a second under 2 minutes). However, nothing there really sets my heart on fire like the first time I heard the swirling arpeggio of “Zak and Sara” (first through the raucous solo piano version on Live, then the filled-out studio recording on Suburbs), or the chorus of “Landed,” or first “ba ba BA ba ba ba!”ed my heart out as a human “Army" trumpet in the crowd of my first Ben Folds show.

[charmingturkeysandwich]

Knock, Knock Ch. 20: Teach You a Thing or Two

OK, so yes it’s been far too long since I updated, but I’m going to try to get this done in the next month or so! It’s 27 chapters total, so we’re nearing the end... with a few twists and turns still to come. If you’ve forgotten where we left off, there’s a summary under the cut to refresh your memory! Or if you’re reading for the first time, you can use the links below to start from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

Read on Tumblr (links to next chapter at the end of each).

Previously on Knock, Knock...

Killian and Emma, having developed from begrudging neighbors into true friends and finally into something more, had finally gotten a chance to go on an actual date, had some well-earned sex, and even finally decided to define their relationship as official. Ruby, having moved to Seattle with Whale, could no longer help Killian out with his business, but Emma has decided to step in, no longer afraid it will ruin their relationship. They, along with Will and Belle, are organizing an upcoming fundraiser for the local library as a test to see if Killian’s excursions can venture into educational territory.

There was once a time when the only thing in the world Killian longed for was a chance to spend his sunrises on the deck of his ship. In those days, sure, he was always up before the sunrise. But by the time the sun was actually gracing the sky with its presence, he was locked away in a building using his brain (and his charms) to turn a one million dollars into twelve before he’d even had his second round of coffee.

That version of him had imagined a perfect life of leisure, of enjoying every moment, of taking the time to actually feel the moment the sun cracked through the clouds, over the horizon, and its beams started dancing their way over the waves breaking against the shore, the ships, the rocks leading up to lighthouses.

But, like any good fantasy, that wasn’t fucking real. No, the non-Wall Street life might have led to sunrises on his ship, but hell if he actually noticed them.

He’d been up since approximately 4:30 AM when his alarm roused him, he kissed the forehead of his grumbling but still sleeping girlfriend, shuffled to his own apartment to get ready, and set out for the docks. Today was the day he’d been preparing for, the day he finally tested if he could be more than just a good time. And it was bloody terrifying.

Suddenly his ship looked like a damn bobby trap. He was panicking about every board, every stair, every possible place a child or parent could trip. He scrubbed every spot that he’d recalled some frat boy may have spilled his beer. He sprayed so much Lysol that the inside of his nostrils had to have been disinfected, and he’d started losing track of the things he’d actually come to the ship to take care of.

Around 9 AM he was chugging coffee and re-reading Belle’s pirate research - attempting to memorize it all despite the fact that he wasn’t even going to be the one reciting it – when he uttered a sentence he’d never once imagined falling from his lips.

“Ugh, I should have stayed on Wall Street.”

The sun was getting in his eyes and his phone’s brightness didn’t go any higher and he was just about to turn toward the door and head below deck when a seemingly ethereal voice ripped him from his stress-induced alternate reality.

“What was that, sailor?” Emma called, her smirk and eyebrow-lift painfully obvious before Killian had even looked at her. When he finally did turn around to face her, she was casually leaned against the hull, arms crossed and sunlight glinted off her bedhead. She’d only tossed on a pair of yoga pants and an old t-shirt before venturing down, but she was still so stunning that Killian was at least 75 percent dumbfounded at the reminder that this woman was actually his.

“Sorry, love, I… this whole thing is getting to me.”

“What do you mean, whole thing?” she asked, pushing off the wood and slowly approaching him, bakery bag now visible in her right hand.

“This!” he shouted, his arms flailing in all directions before he nervously scratched behind his ear.

Fuck. The stress really was getting to him if he’d lost all ability to form coherent sentences. That was his specialty, after all. Especially when it was for Emma’s benefit.

“OK, sweetheart. You need a doughnut. And a break. And perhaps to have woken someone this morning to come with you so someone could have stopped you from going off the deep end. Perhaps literally.” She motioned at the cleaning products precariously perched on the ship’s edge, a chore he didn’t realize he’d never finished.

“Emma, what if…”

“What if, what? What if today doesn’t go well? Then we don’t do another event like this one! It’s a trial run, Killian, not the Hunger Games. There’s no life and death here. Unless you worry yourself to death, which I’m currently legitimately worried about.” Emma let the pastry bag fall to the deck and closed the distance between them, wrapping him up in one of the tightest hugs he’d ever been on the receiving end of. “Please, babe, calm your shit.”

Killian nuzzled his nose into her messy hair, inhaling the smell of her shampoo mixed with the supreme pizza they’d cooked together the night before. “Always a way with words, Swan.”

“Learned it from the best!” she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before retrieving the treats from the floor and (metaphorically) putting on her business hat. “OK, Jones, we’ve got a checklist to take care of.”

-

There was something insanely adorable about how much this man cared. You see, there was a day when Emma had truly thought that anyone caring about anything to the level that Killian did was one of two things: either it was all a show, or it was for personal gain. No one actually possessed that level of passion in their hearts and kindness in their souls (cheesy). Nope, the only possible conclusion was that they were faking it, were reaping benefits from it, were just playing a game.

But Killian played no games.

(OK, he was pretty boss at Scrabble, but that was beside the point.)

He put his whole heart into everything he did. He was genuine and true and actually honest-to-God invested in the things he loved. She’d known this, of course. It had really been the only reason he was able to scale her insanely tall and quite barbarous walls – because she knew it wasn’t an act. But even that had a certain level of selfishness to it. He got the girl.

And, yeah, if this event went well then there’d be opportunity for money. But there already was opportunity enough for payouts that required far less prep and very little effort. No, this man actually wanted the events that took more brain power, that gave something back.

There was a reason he’d been grumbling about wishing he was back on Wall Street when she’d dropped in on him that morning. $12 million was nothing to a billionaire, not in the end. But one really kickass educational event to a kid? It could actually be the thing that inspired them to do something with their lives. And that level of importance wasn’t lost on Killian.

Or Emma.

So while she found herself many times that day just stopping to admire his panic, adorable as it was based on how it stemmed from his truly admirable compassion, she was still fully focused on the task at hand – making the fundraiser a success and getting the kids involved. It was time to make some good memories for them (which was clearly a divergence from many of their previous excursions, as she’s positive a certain percentage of Killian’s past clientele likely didn’t even remember a good portion of theirs – fucking rum).

Belle and Will had made it to the ship by about noon, two hours before the fundraiser was to begin. They had their pirate outfits stowed below deck – they were far too uncomfortable and constricting for the preparations, after all. So the four of them went about their assigned tasks: Emma was decorating and waiting for the caterers to show, Belle was laying out the grab bags and the games the librarian had approved, Will was organizing the release forms for photography and liability, and Killian was readying the ship and plotting their course.

Around one they all went to dress (in shifts, of course – no impropriety was to occur on Killian’s ship this day, he repeatedly announced), and guests began arriving around 1:30. Killian would welcome them aboard his ship, give them the general rundown of the afternoon’s activities, and direct them to where they could put their things. Emma provided the kids with eye patches and plastic hooks and other play-pirate garb while they all awaited departure time. Belle and Will were truly impressive in their abilities to connect with the kids, even before the actual “teaching” or games began. They were seamlessly interacting with them, engaging their questions, and keeping excitement up. Once they’d announced the beginning of the excursion and Killian got to the actual sailing part, she’d already heard the adults offer a multitude of praises to him about how surprisingly professional everything was and the high hopes they had for the day.

Emma could see the pride beaming from his (heavily eyelinered) eyes, but she could also see that fear inside, the reminder of the “pressure” of the day. Obviously it wouldn’t be very professional at all if she were to use her usual tactics for calming him down, so she nudged Will and asked him to go reassure his mate that everything was going to be just fine while she took Will’s place among the children.

They spent a few more minutes play-fighting and chatting and just letting the kids get comfortable before Belle launched into the actual educational segment and it was almost jarring how quickly the kids sat down and just started… absorbing. They were fascinated by Belle’s stories, by the tales of piracy up and down the coast, by the facts about what exactly was being stolen and traded. She was sure to explain that pirates weren’t actually cool dudes most of the time, but she did tell some tales of men who identified as pirates who did all they could to interfere with slave trading, and while that seems like a subject far too dark and uncomfortable for children of that age, Belle’s delivery of it was just so… appropriate. At times Emma realized she was acting far more like a guest than like one of the afternoon’s presenters when she noticed her slack-jawed expression in the reflection of a parent’s sunglasses, but fuck it – she was impressed.

Killian really had no reason to worry at all.

-

The kids had been amazing.

Belle had been amazing.

The food had been better than usual and the parents had been calm and patient and the games had been an unbridled success both in fun and in fundraising and really overall the day had been just damn near perfect.

(Seems like he’d had no reason to worry at all.)

(Or perhaps his worry had been the key to their success – bet Emma had never thought of that.)

Killian was just bidding farewell to the last of the afternoon’s patrons as they all disembarked the ship when he felt a pair of arms slink around him from behind.

“Swan, they can still see us!”

“Killian, for god’s sake, I’m hugging you, not blowing you. Calm down.”

A few parents and kids turned back to wave at them as they left and Emma and Killian both waved back – Belle shouting a few last-minute reminders at the kids as they left (she was such a kid person, it was insane).

“All went well, I’d say?” Will commented as he gathered trash and left-behind pirate accessories.

“More than well! That was fantastic, Killian. I think you’ve got a strong future ahead as an outlet for fun and education.” Belle was still using teacher voice – whether intentionally or by accident – but Killian was so truly proud of them that he couldn’t find it in himself to mock her (good-naturedly, of course).

“Aye, it was a good day. I think we’ll be able to do many more like it. Well, hopefully, anyway. Emma, did you get a good amount of pictures? I feel like we should probably post one right away. Ruby said that was what I should do, anyway…”

“Already ahead of you!” Emma practically squealed, ripping her arms from his waist and pulling her cell phone from its holster at her hip. “I think this one is best. What do you guys think?”

Emma held her phone up to the three of them, a draft already saved on Killian’s Instagram. The photo captured a lovely moment between Belle and a local set of siblings (kids Belle herself had helped to place with their long-lost father just months before), their eyes bright and excited as she explained to them the differences in the replica coins Killian was pulling from his “pirate chest.” He actually looked calm in the photo, which didn’t seem possible considering his internal panic, but for just a moment he could see what probably everyone else had all afternoon – that they’d really done this thing 100% … and loved every minute of it.

“Oh, sure, you pick a photo without me in it,” Will griped, but Emma just rolled her eyes.

“It’s perfect, love,” Killian assured her, taking the phone from her hand to post the photo before she let anyone make her doubt her wonderful Instagram skills.

“Now, who’s hungry?” Belle asked, Emma so distracted by the notifications pouring in on Killian’s phone that he didn’t think she’s actually heard her.

Yeah, they all had good reason to be proud.

-

She’d been starving. Between leaving the apartment abruptly that morning and then spending most of her pre-excursion energy on making sure Killian didn’t lose his marbles, it had been a long day for Emma. A long day in which she forgot to actually eat (not that she ever overate on pirate days, not with that corset to deal with). So when Killian gently poked her to ask if she agreed with Belle’s suggestion they get food, she may have actually moaned.

(Will had a field day with that one.)

The four of them cleaned up as best they could and switched back into appropriate clothing before venturing off to a pizza parlor not far from Killian’s ship.

(Yes, they’d had pizza the night before, but Emma could probably eat pizza every day. Well, as long as she still got some grilled cheeses in there. And onion rings. Damn, she was hungry.)

Predictably, they spent the first half hour or so going over the afternoon, sharing funny stories of kids asking awkward questions (why did my mom and dad laugh so much when Captain Killian said pillaging and plundering earlier?) and all the moments that made them super proud (the kid actually wanted me to read him another story!). They talked a little about how they’d change up their style in the future, about how they’d like to move into the fictional stuff and even into the more sciency things like marine biology. Killian seemed most excited to schedule nighttime excursions that would allow them to talk astronomy, but Emma had to step in as the super buzzkill on that one since they had no way of predicting if the stars would even be visible.

Silence befell the group of them when the pizza was placed at the table, no one even bothering with using a plate before they dug in. Will, who liked ranch dressing on his pizza, actually poured it right on top. Belle scolded him for his inability to eat vegetables without and excessive amount of fat, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that she didn’t actually care. Killian had said he was in the mood for spicy so half the pizza had buffalo sauce and jalapeños, and Emma was 99% sure she was going to start sweating if she ate it, but she dove in anyway, pride lighting up in Killian’s eyes that he’d seemingly made an influence on her “delicate palate” (he’d called it that once and to her chagrin, she realized she was an awfully plain girl when it came to food).

When the pizza was all gone and the beer almost drunk, Belle had raised her bottle. “To many more adventures?”

The other three of them raised their bottles in return, clinking them together, before Killian added, “and to many more double dates after?”

Emma panicked for a moment, worried that the label might cause tension from the other side of the table, but Will simply responded “to many more” as he and Belle looked at each other with a smile.

 “But we juuuuuust finished planning and executing something. Can’t you take a damn break?” Killian whined as Emma pulled out her laptop and perched herself on her bed.

“No, Ruby has a kind of busy schedule. I’m going to need to Skype her tonight to talk about Mary Margaret’s shower or else I’ll have to wait until next week. And it’s important! You were the one going on about all the technology that will keep me connected with Ruby. Now it’s time to let me connect.”

“Oh, I was intending quite a lot of connection tonight, love. But it did not involve your computer. I mean unless you’re into the whole filming it thing, which I actually could get behind if you just make super sure to turn off your iCloud…”

“Killian!”

“Come on, Emma! We deserve a nice… release.”

She truly hated to turn him down – or, more accurately, put him off until later – after all, they certainly did earn some quality naked and alone time. But she really did need to talk to Ruby, both for her planning abilities and her general friendship. Emma hadn’t actually gotten to tell anyone yet that she and Killian had officially crossed that barrier into labels and never a night apart and partners and forgive her if she just needed to gush for a moment.

(And then fuck her boyfriend after.)

“We’ll get that release, Jones. Just… be patient? I promise, it won’t be more than an hour. Then you can have me however you want.”

“Fine. I’m going to … I don’t know. Go for a walk or something.”

Killian leaned down and kissed her forehead but the disappointed wrinkle never left his face. “Oh, come on. I’m not asking that much of you! Just an hour.”

“I know, I know. I just like to whine. I’ll be back soon, Swan.”

And with that he scurried out the door and Emma clicked on Ruby’s contact info, ready to plan a celebration for Mary Margaret while simultaneously celebrating her own actually-making-normal-relationship-progression.

(Ruby was going to be so proud.)

-

He hadn’t actually planned on going to see Dave. He’d thought it was best to use that time to check up on the ship, make sure he hadn’t left any messes that couldn’t be cleaned tomorrow. He figured it was a semi-clear night; he might look at the stars some and take deep breaths and not think about the hundred dirty things he so desperately wanted to do to his girlfriend.

His girlfriend.

He’d of course been using the term in his head (with glee) and had said it to Emma. But in the midst of such a hectic week, he hadn’t actually used the term with anyone else. Not even Belle or Will, with whom he and Emma had spent much of their past few days.

And now the two of them were off doing… well, something together, so he couldn’t share the news with them now. But he had gotten a text from Dave about maybe signing up for a darts tournament the week after. Which meant he was probably just hanging out at home scrolling through his Facebook feed.

And suddenly Killian’s feet were taking him to the closest thing Emma had to family.

 Mary Margaret had been surprised but not displeased when she opened her front door to find Killian on the other side – which had been a relief. Dropping by unannounced to the home of a pregnant woman hadn’t been his best decision that day, so he was glad (and lucky) for the welcoming smile he was met with.

As he’d suspected, David was sitting on the couch, baby book on his lap but staring very pointedly at the screen of his phone. “He’s watching Nanny-cam videos and trying to convince me we can’t ever leave the baby alone with anyone who isn’t family. And he’s not even out yet!” Mary Margaret rubbed her swollen belly. “So that’s how life is in the Nolan household tonight. How are you, Killian?”

At that David finally looked up from the phone. “Killian! What brings you here?”

“Oh, just fancied a walk and thought I’d say hello.”

“Ah! Let me make you a drink. I don’t actually have any rum, Killian…”

“You know I’m not actually a pirate, love?”

“In her defense,” David interjected just as Killian was about to launch into a further complaint about the misconception. “You are still wearing eyeliner.”

Shit. “Oh, that. Yes, we had our first ever educationally minded fundraiser on my ship today. It was apparently such a success that I decided not to wash my face before wandering the neighborhood.”

“Well what do you say, is iced tea good enough for your non-pirate alter ego, captain?”

“Sounds delightful.”

As Mary Margaret headed into the kitchen and Dave invited Killian to sit, he finally started feeling almost nervous about having come here. Emma may or may not have told them herself. Was it even his place to spill her beans? Not that it was much to spill – a label isn’t anything but a word. But that word actually said a lot, considering the long road Killian and Emma had both taken in order to get there.

“Is something wrong?” David asked, after what was probably an uncomfortable silence.

“No, quite the opposite actually. I guess my actual reason in coming here was to share some good news. But now I’m not sure it’s mine to share.”

“I swear, Jones, if you knocked Emma up I will punch you so hard…”

“Mate! No! No. We are not at that point in our relationship, and even if we were that would be our decision and not something worthy of you punching me. But no. I just wanted to tell you that Emma had actually asked me sort of… where we stood. And we decided that we’re official, I suppose you’d say it. Exclusive. Boyfriend and girlfriend. And now that I’m saying it out loud it sounds juvenile, but it felt like a success and I just wanted to share. So… I did.”

David was oddly quiet but his anger had entirely melted away, a smile slowly growing on his face. “You know, that might actually be a bigger step for a relationship with Emma. I’m proud of you, man. Both of you. You’re… good for her. You’re good together. It’s all very good.”

“What’s good?” Mary Margaret chirped as she came back to the den, a tray with a pitcher and three glasses balancing against her slightly protruding waist.

“Emma and Killian. They’re official! By Emma’s request, even!” David announced with what seemed like actual, genuine happiness.

Mary Margaret smiled as she put the tray down on the coffee table, exhaling long and deep. “Finally.”

Read the next chapter!

[c-is-for-circinate]

Ok yeah we’re gonna record thoughts and feelings about P5 as we go, because I know me, and when I’m all done I’m going to want to go back to my recorded opinions about the early stages of the game and roll around in my own ignorance.

Spoilers for the first couple of hours of gameplay (up to the establishment of the Magician social link).  Do not spoil me beyond that in replies/reblogs so help me god.

This is Persona does Leverage and I am so excited.

Once upon a time, there was a meek and unremarkable boy living a meek life in an unremarkable town.  He never knew, because nobody had ever told him, that there was a badass living deep in his own heart.  It never came up.  He didn’t get into trouble, not once, not ever.  He believed in justice and the system that looks out for the weak and the meek and frightened women being forced into cars by drunk, powerful men.

(once upon a time, there was a boy, and he was a fool)

Nothing in Tokyo feels real.  The alleys are crowded, narrow, full of people.  The subway is a labyrinth.  This rented room, this garret apartment, full of rust and accumulated junk, this forgotten storage room, isn’t part of any world where people live.  You walk through school and everybody whispers--did you hear about the new boy.  He’s a violent criminal.  He’s a gang kingpin.  He carries a knife everywhere he goes, and he’ll kill you as soon as look at you if you piss him off.  That can’t be you.  That has nothing to do with your real life (your town, your parents, your school--none of that is yours any more.  Now you get this.)  The castle of magic and shadows is no more impossible and unreal a dream than this new school and this new life that’s supposed to be yours now anyway.

The protag is, at heart, deep in his core, a believer in those with power using it to protect those in need.  Not necessarily a believer that they do, now, any more--but they should.  That’s how the world is supposed to work.  You can’t just do nothing.  He’s got power of his own, now.

It turns out that the protag does carry a knife everywhere he goes, in the metaverse.  Apparently he’s a thief now.  Apparently the part all the way down in his core that’s been shouting so loud since he first heard the muffled sounds of a woman calling for help in the distance on a dark night is raging full of strength and magic.  Apparently he can do things, can fight, can rage, and nothing is stopping him, and look, nothing about this world where he lives in now matches anything he’s ever lived in the past sixteen and a half years of his life.  So now he’s a phantom thief and a rebel, and he has power the likes of which shocks even the talking cat, and everybody at school says they hear he carries a knife everywhere, and if one materializes in his hand when he finds himself in a cape and a mask in the world of the mind--he’s doing this now.  Apparently this is the person he’s going to be in this strange new impossible dream-world.  Okay.  Guess we’re doing this.  Sure.

This is a story about bonds and rebellion.  This is a story about being trapped.  It’s about justice and what’s fair, yes, but more than anything this is going to be a story about structures of power--not just about the individuals who hold it, but about the castles and palaces and empires they build around them, about silence and complacency, hierarchies and systems and all of the layers that smother and trap people in place.

The protagonist is here to break those chains, don’t you know, to tear down the castle walls and break the palaces, to fell the kings and punish the emperors.  The protagonist is here to learn to rebel and break through those empires, one by one, but he’s still in chains to his own fate.  He’s doomed by the blade of his own revolution.

You don’t have social links.  Your relationships are not forging bonds.  Your relationships are the wings and the tools you’re meant to use to break free and break yourself out.  Your friends and acquaintances are collaborators.  They steps and allies and tools to use.  (We will love them, because this is a Persona game and that’s how it works, but--will we love them more than we use them?)

(“You were sold out by one of your own,” they said, remember?)

(Captain William Kidd was imprisoned and questioned and probably tortured and never gave up any of his backers, his allies, the various rich men in England who financed his piracy and who kept their heads down and their hands hidden, right up through Kidd’s execution.  Carmen loved her man and then left him from another, and he cried fury and betrayal and cut her down then and there on the opera stage.  These children are so fucked.)

It’s not ‘Persona goes darker and edgier’, because it’s not actually darker than the epic isolation depression despair of Persona 3.  It’s maybe a little grittier.

Persona 3 was a wash of murky green and blue and darkness, existence and fear and loneliness and despair.  Persona 3 was the kind of depression that’s all emotion and numb emptiness, and everything is either as vast as the entirety of human existence, or tiny and personal and super-individual, with all the scope jumbled and knocked askew and nothing in between.  It was not brighter and it was not kinder, but the light was very different.

This is grittier in the way of a high contrast photograph in hyper-sharp focus, black and white edges on every individual blade of grass.  This is not the endless sea of despair.  This is every goddamn day that you wake up and figure out how to grind your way through to tomorrow.  This is a world where people connect all the time, for all the good it does them.  This is a world where rape is real, and abuse is named, and the suicide attempts are not metaphors.  The enemy is not the abstract wash of numb depression and existential despair--it’s real, and it’s concrete, and it’s so very, very complex that dismantling it feels next to impossible.  And we’re taking it on anyway.

(Your personas are human, every one of them so far, not counting the shades of stories and human unconscious the protag’s started picking up from the wayside.  Characters from novels and plays and actual humans who actually lived, not even 400 years ago, not in myth or legend but actual recorded history.  There’s a little myth and a little magic about them all, but they’re human human human at the core, and they didn’t fight gods or take their blessing, they fought other men, and sometimes won.)

And look, high-contrast ultra-sharpness doesn’t necessarily mean more realistic.  You were rescued from the magical castle by a talking cat.  Nobody has blue hair unless they dyed it that way, but you slip through shadows with the billow of your coat behind you like a cape, and all the visuals are sharp and stylized with shadows and angles and black and white and red all over.  This is half Victorian romantic crime fiction, with your tiny garret above the cafe in the city where you were sent for disgracing the family in public, and half pulpy graphic novel, the pre-superhero kind.  This is still very much genre.

This is Persona-does-Leverage.  There are genre conventions and I expect them to be followed--and look, I have seen all of Leverage and I have seen it all three to five times through.  If the story begins with your hero shoved none-too-gently into a cell by a couple of officers who don’t mind putting a knee in his gut, a fist to his jaw, his ribs, a few new bruises and a little blood for their troubles.  If the questioning starts with, “you were sold out by one of your own.”  If that’s how the story begins, and then we slide back through the days(weeks months year) to the very beginning of this disaster--

then that cell is exactly where our protagonist wants to be, and we are teetering on the edge of the grand reveal as every last thing falls into place.

I want it to get to that point very badly.  That’s the happy ending this genre tells me we ought to get, for all we’ll probably need to battle some dire deity of corruption and despair even after that point anyway.  I like that story.

And here’s what else I like: it means that somewhere over the course of the year, the Phantom Thieves become a group that can plan intricately together, that can grift a con where they turn on each other and trust each other to play their own sides.  It means that they can send their leader deliberately into the jaws of something dangerous and painful all alone.  They know he can take it.  They respect him for that.

Of course he can take it.  Look, this is a story with characters who wear their bruises and their knee braces and their scars every goddamn day.  Injuries from metaverse battles are probably going to magically heal themselves overnight, but this is a story where all of the characters are going to have scars before they even start.

Honestly I am so excited to see this group take shape.  I am so excited for these furious, broken rebel children and their revolution.

They don’t use their own names, their own clothes, their own faces when they fight.  They are not SEES, who never had time to be anyone but themselves, and to hell with anyone who cares, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.  (SEES could barely tolerate each other sometimes, tried to kill each other, but found a way to grab on as tight and iron as they possibly could, bonds so hard to make and the only thing that could save their lives.)  They are so incredibly far from the IT, who fought and set themselves to always always being exactly themselves, one way or another.  (The Investigation Team loved each other chaotically and brightly and openly, tripping over each other like puppies and fighting for each other like wolves.)  I cannot wait to see them.

Did you notice, did you notice, the first persona summoning--it’s not just a discovery, it’s a contract.  These kids are making a contract with their own inner heart of rebellion.  They’re making deals with themselves in exchange for power.  They have lost everything they loved, one by one--their goals, their place in the world, the people they care about, even control over their own bodies.  They have lost the things that they once thought made them who they were, and they make this deal, and they become somebody else.  Skull.  Panther.  Mona.  The Joker.  They remake themselves anew.

And that is going to mean so much for their relationships with each other! I can only guess how that’s going to play out and I can’t wait.

I continue to have more and more thoughts, but it’s very late and I need to go to bed very, very badly.  More of this tomorrow after the Epic Grind.  We’ll see if I change my mind about any of it just yet.

[nicoladesignresearchjournal-blog]

Why Research?

Junior designers are often given the researcher role in design companies

Ability to quickly inform yourself about each new brief you undertake.

Knowing the brief context of a job will help you to design into it.

Make unusual connections

Being Creative is about looking for two things that don’t fit together; combining them and hoping that sparks fly.

The more unusual the things you are able to to pull and combine together the more creative the solution will be.

Helps distance you from everyone else

If we all have the same sources of inspiration (eg. Pinterest) and creating things we will end up with similar results.

The broader your research; the wider your general knowledge the better you will be as a communication designer.

As a communication designer you can’t go down a narrow pathway; you have to be broadly interested in the world around you.

What is Practice?

An activity grounded in a series of habits

Not all habits are practices

Involves teaching

Practices are things which are schooled and which you are able to continue

Design is a profession; people practice that profession

Connects to others who consciously share the habit

A good thing about working inside a practice is that it connects you with other people that do the same thing.

By the time I finish the 3 years of this degree I will have a lot of common ground with the people around me.

That fact the the teaching has got a lot of historical basis to it; connects you to older designers which are part of the same practice as well.

An area that has shared habits is sometimes called a discipline

Foucault ( discipline) Bourdieu ( concept: habitus)

French Theory heavy

Foucault: How society disciplines people into particular ways of thinking

Bourdieu: All the things that you unconsciously carry with you; that have been schooled but that you are not aware of.

The habitus of our particular society give us a particular grounded thinking which we just pick up- good to differentiate and be aware

When do we practice design research?

Understanding consumer preferences (Design research equips you to do)

Design research as a topic has come out of industrial design

Industrial design is big on understanding consumer preferences because if you are going to make a product that is going to sell to millions of people and make billions of dollars for a company; you want to be very sure that it is going to work- intensive research into consumer preferences.

Communication Designers particularly in small firms tend to be more gung- ho about understanding consumer preferences.

Finding out the background context of a design job

Seeing what alternatives already exist

Quickly be able locate lots of alternative ideas so you aren’t inadvertently plagiarising somebody else.

Good research helps you do this fast

Expanding our sources of inspiration

How do we practice research?

Like design there is no exact template

Confident researchers develop their own approaches

Helps if there is a shared basis

The same idea of research and have a conversation about it

Sacrifice a little independence to collectively ability to help one another

Provided by the metaphor of “ a journey of discovery.

Every piece of research that you do should involve discovering something you didn’t know before.

No point in researching when you have the answer.

Always a process of moving to discover something new

Albert Cuyp, 1640, A senior Merchant of the Dutch East India Company and his wife

Invented Capitalism during Colonialism

NZ has a direct connection

Isaac Gilsemans, 1642, “Murderer’s Bay”. A drawing of Abel Tasman’s Encounter with Maori in Golden Bay.

The Dutch East India Company into exploration, was not scientifc or without personal interest, they wanted to trade.

They tasked Tasman with heading to the south to find the great continent and make trading connections with the people that live there.

Tasman sailed but missed Australia,then Hit tasmania, crossed the Tasman sea and arrived in Golden Bay where had this encounter with maori that went very badly and after that after time he wanted to make land as he went up the coast of NZ he encountered Maori who he interpreted as extremely unfriendly. Therefore did not land and sailed back and go into trouble with the DUtch East India Company who did not like the fact that he had a couple of years to sail around the world and had not made any trading contacts.

Few thing about Tasmans voyage which mean that its exploration and research rather than piracy:

Researchers can also be pirates

Pre- requistes neeed to be a good researcher

Curiosity

Won’t get to the started point

Openess, dedidcation, imagination

THe ability recognise the potential in a situation and believe you have the wherewithall to do something with it

VOC monogram

First globally recognised logo

How were Europeans curious about the rest of the world?

Maps tell us a lot- what they new about the world geographically

Abraham Ortelius, 1572, World Map

In order to move from general curiosity to thinking we are going to do something about it; you have to do a whole lot of background work

Background - preparing

Qualities: focus, thoroughness, wit

The ability to think on your feet- quickly and have interesting humorous ways- wit

Try to find out what we already know about this situation. (the map)

Trying to understand your own context- what can you do ( what size ship)

Have to question and play with the existing interpretations. - hypothesis ( We think there is a southern continent we will go and hope, If we head down there we might find some more people to trade with.

Select the tools

Practical- getting yourself ready to do research is an important skill

Contextualising- mapping the project

After preparing the specific details need to look at the bigger picture.

Preparing yourself for the unexpected; Knowing  as much as you can of what to expect

Planning, creativity, improvisation

Understanding the context of history, culture, ideology,

Knowing what your own limitations are and what preconceptions you bring

What lens will you bring to the research- will affect the way you see the new stuff that you encounter

Collecting - Exploring the Territory interesting part

When you start the journey and go collecting evidence; go looking for new stuff.

Means that you have to be resilient; difficult part; encountering the unknown

Easy to get scared, need persistence & excitement

Survey the territory, find evidence, collect materials

The ability to look, listen, read, write, draw- come into researching.

Feeling your way, because you’re never going to know what the answer is; always hitting new stuff just have to wing it quite a lot of the time.

Important to question all the time

Humans are programmed to ask questions

When you are 3,4,5 years old you ask questions all the time; get sick of parents saying shut up to all our questions; then we stop asking them. Then we sit in from of the tv and we can’t ask questions; so we lose our ability to question new things we encounter.

Keep asking, and research the most important skill to have.

Reflecting- Analysing the Findings

Collecting information, gained experience

Figure out what does that mean, Have to be good at reflection and rigorous

Find how disconnected pieces of information connect together

What are the themes

Extracting

Collecting- Synthesising Findings

Categorising Info

Getting rid of interesting but irrelevant information

Hard part discovering information but can’t use it as part of the narrative

Publishing- Sharing Findings

A researchers job is to share the findings

We grow collectively by knowing what other people have encountered and build on their experiences

Have to be persuasive & write clearly- you want people to understand

Craft the outcome

What distinguishes you from being a pirate

Pirates only do things for themselves

Just interested in finding the Gold, not interested in sharing the gold

Researchers get the gold and share it

Howard Pyle, 1911, Who shall be Captain?

Where do I Begin?

To become a researcher you need to:

Decide on the type of journeys you want to undertake

Start locating home base- what have i done already

Curiosity Map

What am I curious about in my life so far?

What do I enjoy doing?

Stage 1- Mapping your interests

The degree of interest- the bigger the shape

Your interests are a drop in a large ocean

There are still heaps of areas I am still yet to explore (even as you get older)

The joy of discovery- for every 1 thing you find, you discover 10 things you don’t know

The unknown can be boring because it’s not an interest and a threat because we feel stupid

Can get in the way of you having growth experiences

The danger is that the our areas of interest become our comfort zone and you find all sorts of excuses not to move outside it.

Eg. too hard, I’ll look stupid and they’ll laugh at me, being scared

Instead look at it like its potential for new stuff that can help you to become more creative.

Being at Uni is about dealing with those feelings

Allowing yourself to risk looking stupid in order to try new things.

I can do it- yet

Your circumstances and your interests keep on changing- affected by your surroundings

Take the opportunity of university to expand your interests

Curiosity is a fundamental skill - instead of googling discover your inner 5 year old and learn how to be curious again.

Stage 2- Mapping out areas to explore

What do I do?

What am I curious about?

Where are the interesting edges & connections?

Where are the areas that I can expand?

Where you want to take your journeys?

Use uni to help you get there